To Whom It May Concern
by Shadoweyes1
Summary: No longer a oneshot! DMHP Draco wanted to die, but he didn't now he's merely dead inside, will Harry, someone's who's been in that position before, be able to help?
1. To Whom It May Concern

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Draco Malfoy; he belongs to J. K Rowling.

**Warning:** This One-shot contains strong mention of depression, self mutilation and suicide. You have been warned. There is one very slight mention of Yaoi.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Authoress:** Shadoweyes1

**Summary:** After slowly sinking deep into depression, Draco Malfoy takes it upon himself to do what he thinks he must. He writes a suicide letter, chronicling his life and his feelings, and even more so the emotional turmoil he went through that led to his self mutilation.

_To Whom It May Concern_

_I am writing this in the hope that perhaps there is someone out there who cares. That there is someone out there who cares for Draco Malfoy._

_There's nothing for me anymore. There's no ounce of joy left in the life that I once celebrated so happily. Sometimes I think back to when I was a child, to a time when I used to be like everyone else, and it always strikes me at how young I imagine myself to be. My indoctrination began at a very early age; I suppose that I have my father to thank for that. He always was too eager to mould me into a replica of himself, to build me up in his own, tainted and sickening image. It has only been over the past few years that I have begun hating him for that. I recall as a child that I never minded what he told me, I ate it all up like syrup on a spoon. I didn't care, in retrospect I think that I was just happy enough being around him. He was after all 'Daddy'. I didn't know back then who he really was. I looked up to him, worshipped him, and took everything he said at face value. It didn't occur to me how he might've been using me for his own foul deeds. I was ignorant as a child. I over heard Granger telling Potter one time that 'Ignorance is bliss' and on that point I have to whole heartedly agree with her._

_True my childhood was never wonderful, it was never filled with ice cream and toys and games like everyone else's, but still it was one of the best times of my life. I'll never relive those times again. I mean, sure, my father used to beat me when I didn't live up to his expectations, used to scream and yell and cause me more pain than you can ever imagine, but I used to believe that I deserved it. I used to think that I had done something terribly wrong, how could I not? My interaction with other children my age was minimal. He always told me it was because I was superior to all others, but I think that he was just scared of me learning the truth and rebelling, he couldn't have that, oh no. I was never allowed out. He schooled me day and night in the dark arts and other such matters, and I learned it all diligently, picking up his cruel sense of humour and harsh wit along the way. The best time of my life. Right._

_My mother was not maternal, that is not one of the words I could use to describe her, she was more worried about my father's money than she was about me, she spent her days preening herself before her magic mirror, making herself Goddess-like for when she went out socialising. But even that was acceptable then, father told me, a woman's place is in the home, she must obey and never question. Maybe she was told not to interfere with me. Hmm. On the occasions that I did see her, she made some off hand comment about how much like my father I was and then swept away. That had pleased me, I was becoming like my predecessor. Happiness welled within my chest and I went around grinning like an idiot for the rest of the day. But of course, happiness is never allowed in my family, and so I was punished._

_By the time I was eleven I had been groomed and prepared to face the world, looking and acting like a younger Lucius Malfoy. I didn't have to worry about friends; my father had already paid for them (But at the time I did not know this). They were to follow me around sending me adoring looks and keeping away all those that were not worthy._

_For a while I revelled in it._

_But one cannot be thrust out into the open world and expect to stay exactly the same. People change with the times, and I was no exception. Being around so many people corrupted my 'Malfoys Are Superior' and 'I am God' attitude. It was inevitable._

_But when I finally did open my eyes, I did not like what I saw, perhaps I would have been happier to stay blind, but that would have been far more stupid than anything I could ever have done. Lord knows where I would be now. Dead already probably._

_I wasn't actually the best in the world, I wasn't invincible and untouchable. I was human, a wizard yes, but still human. Damn. It hurt to realise that I was nothing special after all. However even though I knew that I could never be the perfect son to my father, and that I couldn't be the Draco Malfoy I was in my first five years at Hogwarts, I couldn't quite bring myself to abandon the image completely. It was who I was, casting it aside would be like being born again, and I wasn't ready for that. Inconsolable and confused I turned to my friends, and was crushed to find that they didn't care about me after all. How I hated them at that moment, how I hated my father and his wealth, how I hated Voldemort for making my father into the horrid man he was today._

_I suppose I just couldn't take it anymore. I suppose that I couldn't take the pressure of being so cold and cruel in public, so uncaring whereas inside my soul was crumbling to pieces and slipping through my fingers. I got tired of always pretending, tired of trying to fit in, nobody wanted me, nobody cared._

_So if nobody else cared, why should I?_

_I resolved from that day, to just not care anymore. I locked all emotion away and threw away the key; it was a decision that changed my entire life. Seconds blurred into minutes which fazed into hours, they sped by my life taking away everything that was going on around me. I distanced myself from the other Slytherins, and distanced myself further from everyone else. Food turned to ash in my mouth, drink turned to acid, and every gulp of air I took was like breathing in smoke. My skin felt unclean, dirty even. So I took to carving out the filth with any sharp object that I could lay my hand on, it was comforting to see blood flow, but even that didn't make me care._

_School work carried on as usual, although my grades did drop slightly, I didn't care to try extra hard, I didn't care if I beat Granger or not. I dropped out of Quidditch, gave up my position as prefect, and even stopped teasing Potter and his friends._

_Potter. Harry. Oh how I used to envy him. He has friends that care, people that are like family to him, he lives a full life. But even the thought of him does nothing for me anymore; his name doesn't stimulate me in the way it used to. I used to think that perhaps under different circumstances Potter and I could have been friends, perhaps even more. But that will never happen, because he hates me._

_Just like every one else._

_Everybody hates poor spoilt Draco. At one time they used to fear me, hah; it doesn't even come close to that now. I know that some of the first years still whisper as they walk past me. Talking about how 'there goes Draco Malfoy; he used to be the most infamous Slytherin around.' That was the old me, I'm not that person anymore. I'm not anything anymore._

_My hair has grown, as most have surely noticed, and I trim it occasionally, but only to stop myself mirroring my father's image too closely. I can't recognise myself in the mirror anymore. My once cold and calculating eyes and dead and empty. It's like looking into a black hole. I've tried to keep my weight at what it was when I was the old Draco Malfoy; it wasn't that hard, I didn't eat much anyway. But my skin, ah my skin has suffered the worse, almost as bad as my mind. My arms are covered with peach coloured scars, red scars, and old dug out scars. They criss-cross my arms all the way up to my elbow. I doubt that anyone has noticed my self mutilation. They probably couldn't bring themselves to care. Why am I not surprised?_

_I've forgotten what my voice sounds like, even as I write these words I am struggling to remember the biting edge it had to it, and its often harsh but sometimes soft tone. Perhaps it's because my mind has locked that memory away with all the others._

_But perhaps it's the effects of the thirty or so painkillers I have taken (along with excessive amounts of alcohol) starting to kick in. I don't know. I took them ten minutes ago, just before I started writing this; they were dry on my tongue, like patches of dirt. Obviously I am hoping for death, this last letter, this 'suicide note' as it were should be proof enough for that._

_I guess I should leave a will sectioning off all my belongings to those close to me, but I have no one to share my meagre possessions with. My school supplies may be donated to another student, any money I have can be given to whomever, it's not like I care. My knife should be cleaned and used for another purpose or disposed of. After all who would want to keep such a horrible tainted, twisted item around? Then again I can see why people would treasure it; it cut the flesh of a Malfoy._

_My hands are starting to tremble as I write this, the pain killers I suspect, the muscles in my stomach are clenching. It's painful. But it's a good kind of pain. HAH! Where's you're smooth words now father? Where's your indifference mother? Where's your 'Love Everybody' attitude Dumbledore? Where is your cutting remark Potter? I think that I'll miss that most of all. Our arguments in and out of class. They kind of gave my life meaning, both before and after I found out that all my father wanted me for was to give to his 'Master' to pay off some intangible debt that he now owed. Bur as I withdrew into myself, even our rivalry faded away into the darkness._

_But none of that matters, as I won't be here much longer. I can't see what I'm writing, so I had better finish this before I pass out completely, Lord knows I won't have a chance to finish it otherwise._

_So in conclusion I ask you this, you will never get to tell me the answer, but you will think about it and it will stay in your thoughts until your grave._

_Why was it so hard for someone, for anyone to love me?_

_I'm not a machine, I had feelings too you know._

_I had feelings…but I don't anymore._

_Was I really that hard to love?_

_With deep regrets,_

_Draco Malfoy._

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

Draco Malfoy didn't even have time to put his quill back into the inkwell stationed at the corner of his desk before the drugs overcame him and he slumped forwards into oblivion.

It looked as if he was sleeping peacefully, with his head resting upon his arms like that, a smile curved onto his features. It looked as if he was dreaming of happier times. To his right a candle flickered gently illuminating his body as he took weak breaths that grew shallower with every passing second.

Eventually his chest stilled, his last life's breath whispering out from between his parted lips like a dreamy sigh.

It was in this normal looking position, with his legs hooked together under his chair and his head resting on his scarred arms that they found him in the morning.

Nobody said anything.

There was nothing to say.


	2. Quandaries Of The Morning

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters herein.

**Note: **This is no longer a one shot, thanks to Natana who asked for it to be longer. This is an Angst fic, and so there will be depressing scenes. Also this is Draco/Harry slash fic, if you don't like, don't read simple as that.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Chapter One: Quandaries Of The Morning **

When Harry awoke that morning there was a great commotion down in the common room. He lay in his bed for a moment idly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and trying to remember where he was.

Then he remembered, he was in the dormitory at Hogwarts, it was his final year, and he'd been back for two days. He had a whole weekend to spend here until his lessons started on Monday. A slow smile crept up onto his features. He stretched lethargically and wondered briefly what had awoken him. He reached out a hand and picked up his glasses from the bed side table, with a small yawn he pushed them up onto his nose and then swung his legs off of the side of his mattress. His feet thudded to the cold floor.

He could hear a lot of movement going on down below, mostly a lot of excited chatter, probably the first years he was still half asleep and didn't have the inclination to decipher the words that were being passed about. It was probably the first years.

He pushed himself to his feet and then went to begin his usual morning routine; he walked towards the bathroom, taking mental notes about his sleeping companions. Ron was nowhere to be found, but then that didn't really surprised Harry, he knew that Ron's cousin had started Hogwarts this year, so he was probably showing him around and introducing him to the other Gryffindors. Seamus was sprawled out on top of the bed clothes, his face buried into his pillows, his fair hair sticking up in ridiculous shapes. Dean was up too, or so it seemed as the bed was neatly made, as usual reflected Harry somewhat sourly, and Neville…well Harry had to try hard to stifle a laugh, somehow the poor boy had managed to get himself the wrong way round, spread eagled face down on the bed with one leg in the air. He was snoring loudly as well. Harry snickered to himself and shook his head in amusement, it didn't matter to him what they slept like, just knowing that he had friends around was comfort enough for him.

Harry went into the bathroom cautiously, checking that there was no one in there already, and that he locked the door once he was in. Turning around he faced the mirror and stared at the person that looked back at him.

He found himself hard to recognise, he had changed so much since he had started Hogwarts, his eyes were still green, Ginny Weasley once described them as 'Emerald Green'. He wasn't sure if he agreed with her, they looked murkier to him, like the depths of the Pacific Ocean. He wondered if it was possible to drown in his eyes, he heard that girl's thought it was romantic when they could get lost in a boy's eyes, but Harry didn't hold much faith in romantics. He dismissed the drowning idea and brushed his teeth before took off his glasses again and laid them on the ledge under the mirror.

Quickly he stripped off his clothes and began to shower, the hot water washing away the sweat from the night before that still clung to his adolescent body. Harry looked down at his arms. His scars had faded, but they were still visible. It had been back at the end of his fifth year, he had tried to kill himself, he had been overwhelmed by Sirius's death, he thought that he was to blame. But it seemed as though The Boy Who Lived, could do nothing without the wizarding world being aware of it, even the taking of his own life. He had spent the summer in St. Mungo's much to his distaste and unease. Some of the people there were truly insane, he didn't belong there, taking pills every morning and sat alone on a white bed in a white room.

Ron and Hermione had come to visit him of course, but no one else had known, not one person than those who had to. Harry had hated feeling weak in front of them, hated being dependant on the drugs for his happiness.

Harry shook his head, spraying the water that had collected on his hair in every direction. Those times were behind him now, he had over come them. Hopefully he would never go back to that awful state of mind again. It was anew lease of life for him, and he intended to be grateful for everything happened to him whether good or bad, because it was better all round to live, rather than die. Especially if you had friends.

Absently he traced the ridged scars over his wrists with a forefinger before he pushed all morbid thoughts from his mind and turned off the shower. He stepped out and began drying himself with the towel that lay on the pole next to the sink. He scrubbed his hair for a second and then discarded the soaked towel in favour of the hairdryer that was on the sink edge, being made by wizards, it was silent, and so he dried his hair safe in the knowledge that he would not be rousing his two friends.

He left the hairdryer on stand by on the side table ready for whoever came and used it next. Picking up a comb he moved towards the mirror and began to methodically brush his hair. He had tried more or less to keep it the same length it should have been, but he often experimented with different styles, for instance this year he had grown his fringe long so that it hung over his scar completely and on that side, it was so long that he had to brush it aside to see through his right eye. He thought it was cool; he had received many comments that it made him look older and more sophisticated. After combing his hair and his fringe he reached forwards and squeezed a generous amount of hair gel, from the tube that lay on the side, onto his hands and then began working into through the back of his hair, spiking it up at odd angles. Satisfied he put his glasses back on, thankful that he'd taken the time in the summer holidays to purchase a pair of rectangle rimless ones, it was partly to try and rid himself of the image he had had when he had been younger and it was partly because Hermione had been badgering him to take more care with his appearance and buy some more clothes now that he had the money.

Shaking his head at his friend's worry he wrapped a towel around his waist and picking up his discarded pyjamas and went back out into the dorm, noticing with mild surprise that the beds where Neville and Dean had previously been were now empty, the bedclothes strewn everywhere as if they had gotten up in a hurry.

The commotion downstairs still had subsided, Harry was curious now, if it was just excited first years surely they would have dispersed to explore or be shown around by now or something. He realised that he couldn't go downstairs to see what was happening dressed only in towel. Pursing his lips at the thought of missing something important he hurriedly got dressed not paying too much attention towards what he was putting on, but just enough to know that he would look presentable.

The clothing items he chose, unfortunately made him look more like a goth than he had ever been in his life. He had pulled on a pair of baggy black jeans that hung low on his hips and fell down over the black trainers he had pushed his feet into. He had put on a long sleeved black shirt with a high collar. He noticed the gothism that his clothing caused, but was too curious by now to take the time to change. He shoved the sheets back onto his bed in a pile, making a mental note in his head to make it later, and then headed towards the door that led to the winding stairs.

He began to walk down the stairs at a rapid pace, being careful that he didn't trip over his trousers and go flying. He didn't want to suffer that kind of embarrassment on his second day. Besides today was the day that he had to make a good impression on the first years even though he hadn't made it to be prefect, that particular job had fallen onto Hermione and Dean. Harry was relieved that he didn't have to do something else; it was a relief to be free of that responsibility.

As he neared the foot of the stairs however, he realised that what had seemed like a mild commotion from upstairs was actually rather grand-scale. Every Gryffindor was in the common room with wide eyed looks permanently fixed to their faces. Everyone from first years to seventh years was there, milling about and talking to their friends with horrified or smug looks on their faces. As he neared the group he heard a few snippets of the conversations going on.

"To bad he didn't succeed…"

"What would possess him to do that?"

"Selfish…"

Thoroughly confused Harry made his way towards the bulk of the group, hoping to find Ron and Hermione. He noticed that the majority of people were still dressed in their pyjamas. Harry recognised that this must be something big if people aren't even getting dressed first. He frowned, was there an announcement that was due to be made, or was there a transfer student? If so he didn't really have time to be listening to useless stuff, even it was just an announcement he was sure that it would be finished with soon, after all he had to make a quick stop at the library to pick up some books that he was going to need for the classes he was taking.

He was still stuck with Potions, he pulled a face at the thought, but Snape didn't really bother him as much anymore, and Malfoy had been rather subdued for the past year or so. He had dropped Divination, it was an absurd subject anyway, especially since Firenze had gone back to the forest and Trelawney had assumed the full class once again. Defence against the Dark Arts was still one of his favourite lessons, but once again they were having a new teacher, something he really could do without. Care for Magical Creatures was still on his agenda and he needed a book on Gryphons or so he'd been told by Hagrid. Transfiguration was still good, as was charms but in addition there was now Study of Ancient Runes and Wizarding Literature, which he favoured greatly as an option other than History.

He was beginning to get annoyed now, the chatter was still going on around him, he couldn't see Ron or Hermione and the first years were starting to look at him like he was the best thing since sliced bread.

"Harry!"

Harry turned around, he was relieved to see that Hermione and Ron had seen him and were coming across the room towards him, earning them both adoring looks from the first years. Harry shook his head at this, but he immediately sobered when he saw the serious expressions of his friends' faces. Hermione's brow was drawn down into a low frown and her eyes were filled with worry, Ron just looked plain grumpy.

"Harry! I've been trying to find you all morning! I even went into your dorm to find you!" explained Hermione hastily, "It's terrible isn't it? I couldn't believe it when I heard but Nearly Headless Nick Heard it off The Bloody baron who heard Madam Pomfrey talking to Dumbledore. Nick was telling The Fat Lady, and it got back to us this morning, no one knows what's going to happen now." She rattled on, looking closely at Harry's face all the time.

"And every one knows what that Fat Lady knows everyone knows." Mumbled Ron rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

Harry, although he was in possession of great patience was getting extremely agitated by his friends. If there was something important that had happened surely they should tell him? Hermione began to speak again, this time her tone was low and her eyes were darting about to make sure no one else was listening in.

"Now Harry, just because you've had a similar experience don't feel like you have to go and talk to him. It's not your problem." She gave him a meaningful look; it was, however, completely lost on him.

"Talk to who Hermione?" he asked looking at Ron who was stretching awkwardly and tugging at the collar of his pyjamas as if he was uncomfortable.

"To Malfoy." She said quietly, "It's not you're problem, you shouldn't feel the need to talk to him."

Harry scowled at his two friends, "Why would I talk to Malfoy? What has he done now?" it was his second day back, and already his rival was causing problems, it seemed as though the subdued Malfoy from the previous year or so was gone, and this year he planned to make a nuisance of himself again. Arrogant git.

Hermione looked at him sharply, and Ron looked up startled.

"Don't you know?" asked Ron dropping his hand from his collar.

"Know what?" he was beginning to feel as if he was missing something very important here, and it was unusual for him to be the last to find out.

Hermione clasped her hands together and fidgeted for a moment before, her hands stilled and she looked up at Harry and locked their gazes together. "Early this morning," she paused as if she was having difficulty getting the actual words out. Harry waited with bated breath, "Early this morning, Malfoy tried to kill himself."


	3. Similar Differences

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters herein.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Note: **Thanks Yulara (have I spelt that right?) for reviewing!

**Chapter Two: Similar Differences**

Harry's mouth fell open in surprise, of all the possible things he would have suspected Hermione to come out with that was by the far the bottom of the list; in fact, it wasn't even on the list. He'd assumed that it was something like Malfoy had tried to get various members of staff sacked, or that he physically hurt someone, or was being his regular old malicious self. "He…he…he what?" Harry managed to get out quietly, all thoughts of his lessons and library books fleeing from his now wide awake mind.

"He tried to kill himself, he took about thirty wizarding painkillers along with some muggle ones and washed it down with some fire whiskey. It was lucky that Snape found him this morning when he went to rouse his students, another few minutes and they'd never have been able to bring him back." Hermione's voice was quiet, the soft tone saddened by having to repeat such ill deeds.

Ron shuffled his feet next to her, still looking uncomfortable just standing there, "He's in the infirmary." He put in helpfully before he looked down at his feet as though it were none of his business.

Harry's eyes flickered to Ron's face; he knew that the redhead didn't really understand that depression was more of an illness than it was a state of mind. People just couldn't snap themselves out of it, they needed help. Ron had been so desperate to have Harry get better when he was in St. Mungo's. He's believed that he's failed as a friend, so he'd hung around not knowing what to do, trying to help but failing and annoying Hermione. It was one of the things that infuriated Harry about their friendship, Ron seemed to think that if Harry ignored his problem it would go away. Harry just didn't share that view. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw someone waving, he turned his head slightly, "Ron, I think you're cousin's calling you."

Ron looked up and focused on the tall fair haired boy that was his cousin, he looked guilty and relieved for having found a way out of the situation he found himself in. Harry gave him a half smile that showed that he didn't mind and Ron made a sharp exit.

"I'm coming Scott!" he yelled as he pushed past a group of giggling second years.

Harry shook his head at his friend and then turned back to address Hermione. "Do they know why he did it?" he asked raising an eyebrow in question.

Hermione shook her head, "I've got an inkling that the professors know why, but if they do, they're not saying anything, and quite rightly so, it's really none of our business." She bit her lip, "It reminded me of you though."

Harry sighed, he'd only been up half an hour and already he had a feeling that this year was going to be as bad as the last few, full of problems and misadventures. Damn he never had it easy. Silently he cursed his fame. "But I didn't overdose." He replied softly.

Hermione lowered her eyes, "I know. That's not what I meant. I meant that because you and he have something in common now, you may feel the need to talk to him. But you don't you know. Let his friends help. It's not your concern." There seemed to be desperation in her voice, was it possible that she didn't want him coming into contact with Draco? Was she worried that the Slytherin would be a bad influence on him?

Harry thought for a moment before he replied, "I think," he began slowly, "That had our places been reversed at the moment, mine and Malfoy's then I would have been extremely grateful to have someone who knew what I was going through, even if I didn't exactly like them, I would have listened to what they had to say. When you're in the black hole of your own mind, you're willing to go to any means to get out again." He paused, he looked at Hermione who appeared to have unshed tears in her eyes, realising that he had brought up bad memories for her he tried to lighten the mood, "I would have tried dressing like a goat to try and get myself out." He gave her a smile, she smiled bravely back.

"I suppose that you have to go through to understand it." She admitted grudgingly, "You're going to go and talk to him then?"

Was he? Harry frowned to himself, was that what it sounded like? Should he go and talk to Malfoy, after all, he hated Malfoy. Or did he? He searched through his mind to try and find some reason why he shouldn't hate him. He couldn't think of anything. The speech he had just given to Hermione dictated that he was going to talk to the ferret.

Sometimes Harry's own logic frustrated him beyond belief. He had to go and open his big mouth.

He half shrugged, "I don't know."

Hermione sighed, "Well just think about what I said first okay? He's a Slytherin, and besides talking to him may make you….you know…again."

Harry grimaced, "Don't be afraid to say it Hermione, 'Depressed'. It's not an evil word. It can't hurt you and I'm not averse to hearing it." Absently he reached up and pulled the long strands over hair out of his face so that he could view her with both of his eyes, "But don't worry about it, that part of my life is over, and nothing is going to make me fall back into myself." He wondered briefly when he had started talking so much like an adult. "Besides, Malfoy might not even want my help. Whereas I would have welcomed help, he might not."

Harry had no idea as to why he was telling such a blatant lie and to one of his best friends as well. He would never have accepted help; he had been in a rut and refused aid from his friends and his teachers. He shoved his hands in his pockets and felt reassured when he felt the familiar shape of his wand.

It was Hermione's turn to wince, "I'm sorry I really am. It's just I couldn't help you when you were depressed and I don't want you to end up like that again. Seeing you like that nearly destroyed Ron, I think we'd both understand that you'd want to help him, having been there yourself, even if it someone as arrogant as Malfoy…" her voice trailed off and she looked across the common room at the rumour mongering that was going on between the Gryffindors. "But if you'll excuse me, I have to do something about this." She said tightly gesturing to the masses.

Harry nodded and stepped aside to allow her passage; he watched her walk up to the front of the group and call them all to her attention. He smiled at her as she glanced over to him as she began berating the younger students about good manners and that there was no need to be spreading rumours and having a good gossip. Malfoy was a fellow student and even if he never treated them with respect they should respect his privacy now.

The first years were listening with rapt attention, their wide eyes shining in awe as they watched the intelligent and kind words coming out of the beautiful girl's mouth.

Harry having heard the speech before from a few years ago when a Ravenclaw had been caught stealing from the Charm's Teacher, gave a half wave to her, grinned at Ron and then proceeded towards the swinging portrait. It opened automatically to let him through.

Once he was out in the corridor free from the crowded room he allowed himself to expel a breath and lean against the wall to clear his head. Such unexpected events already and the year had barely begun. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his finger and his thumb and he closed his eyes and scowled to himself.

He wondered what had pushed Malfoy over the edge; his little group must be devastated to have lost there all powerful leader. He imagined Pansy shrieking hysterically in a bid to gain as much attention as he could. Somehow though when it came to imagining Malfoy's father, he had great difficulty imagining a grieving face.

The human mind fascinated him beyond simplistic measure, it had the ability to make or break a person. After his own experience he had forced himself to pay more attention to what was happening in his mind, he was uniquely in tune with his thoughts now, and he found that not only was he thinking far more clearly than he had ever done but his grades were improving. Harry tried to picture what was in Malfoy's mind, but couldn't bring himself to no matter how hard he tried. Not only had he had no civilised contact with the blond enigma, but it was impolite to try and assume things about someone but having the chance to get to know them.

Harry opened his eyes and pushed himself up. He would go to the infirmary and check up on Malfoy's condition, Madame Pomfrey would understand surely. But then, the nurse was always very unpredictable.

He began walking, his feet taking him in the general direction of the infirmary, saying hello to the paintings as he passed, stopping on occasion to compliment them on games of chess they were having. He was relieved to see that the painting were not discussing the subject of Malfoy, they were talking about mundane things, like how nice the new DADA teacher was.

"Well, well, well." Said a voice to his left, not expecting anyone to be talking to him, Harry jumped out of his skin and turned to great whoever was there because there weren't supposed to be any portraits on this corridor. He was wrong however.

There in the shadows, cleverly disguised in the dark was a large painting framed in black. It was of a tall man dressed in pitch black robes; he had long black hair and was perched on a tree branch reading a book that lay open in his left hand. Harry didn't know what to make of it; he had never seen this painting before. He wondered what it was doing here.

"Um, hello." Greeted Harry stepping closer to the picture, noticing that the man's fingernails were painted black. "Who're you?"

The man turned his head and Harry was surprised to see that the painting had onyx coloured eyes that were outlined with black eyeliner, he was wearing a spiked collar around his neck. He closed the book, "I am Azriel." Harry opened his mouth to reply but the painting raised a hand and cut him off, "And you are Harry Potter. But what do we have here, Mr. Potter, you seem to have forgotten yourself."

"I have?" Harry asked slightly bemused by this strange event.

"Oh yes. You are without a doubt in the stages of a transformation."

Harry thought the painting was being very matter of fact about it all, but he had learnt through past experience never to take what the paintings said seriously. "A transformation? What am I changing into?" he decided to play along.

"I would have thought that that was obvious Mr. Potter. You are becoming a goth. Just look at your clothes, and you've started liking literature and have an almost obsessive fascination with death." Azriel smiled slowly, and the expression reminded Harry of a predator.

"A goth? No, why on earth….hey, how do you know about my fascination with death?" Harry was beginning to think that maybe he should have moved to Canterbury and bought a house like he had in that weird dream he had had not so long ago.

The painting smiled knowingly, "All in due time, Mr. Potter, although a word of advice, if you are planning on going to see Mr. Malfoy, you may want to take a detour past the Slytherin common room."

Harry opened his mouth to reply to this rather odd statement but Azriel picked up his book again and went back to reading, still confused Harry questioned the reason for him to need to go to the Slytherin common room. Azriel didn't reply. Harry tried again.

"Time's are wasting Mr. Potter, if you wish to catch them you must hurry." The painting fell silent and refused to answer anymore questions. Biting back a snarl of frustration Harry turned on his heel and began to descend the stairs that led to the long way around to the infirmary.

A thousand thoughts like broken shards flew around Harry's head. First Malfoy, now Azriel and now this bizarre quest to the Slytherin common room. Harry huffed under his breath. A goth indeed. He looked down at his clothes and his eyebrows rose…Was that really what he put n this morning? Unbelievable. Maybe the painting was telling the truth, but what was all that about literature? Hermione liked books and she was definitely not a goth.

Suddenly the corridor widened out onto the broader landing that went past the Slytherin portrait. Harry looked up quickly as he heard giggling and low voices. There, leaning against the wall of the corridor were Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise Zabini. Pansy had a piece of paper in her hands and she was pointing bits out to Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise for his part looked completely miserable being there, he kept saying things to the others but they either ignored him or laughed.

Harry had a sickening feeling in the very pit of his stomach, what was it that they had? It couldn't be anything good, how come they weren't sad at the fact they nearly lost Malfoy, wasn't he their friend? It seemed from Harry's point of view that only Blaise seemed kind of upset about the whole thing.

He paused, thankful that his footsteps were quiet and slipped into the shadows so he could listen to what they were saying. There always seemed to be an abundance of shadows on the Slytherin corridor.

He leaned slightly closer to them to try and catch some of the words that were being said.

"Oh this letter is priceless…" purred Pansy in a dark voice.


	4. Collision at Fort Slytherin

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters herein.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Chapter Three: Collision at Fort Slytherin**

"Oh this letter is priceless…" purred Pansy in a dark voice.

Harry really didn't like the tone of voice she was using. It sounded evil, far more so than anything that ever been uttered by Malfoy. He shuffled closer to them so he could hear everything that was going on. He made a mental note to listen to the painting known as Azriel more often.

"What are we going to do with it?" asked Crabbe rubbing his hands together as if they were talking about a treasured artefact or ancient antique. Goyle nodded Harry supposed it was his way of echoing the question.

"Nothing." Spat Blaise, "We shouldn't even have it."

Harry couldn't see the look on Pansy's face as she had her back to him, she was leaning on the wall with her shoulder, Blaise was standing before her a look of disgust while Goyle and Crabbe were leaning against the wall lazily with smug looks on their ugly faces.

"Shut up Zabini." Snapped Pansy, as she turned around and also rested her back against the wall, and staring at Blaise coldly. She traced the edge of the piece of parchment she held with her fingers and smiled, "I think that we'd be very well rewarded," she began, stressing the word 'very', "If we sold this to The Daily Prophet." She gave a short humourless laugh, "Think of the money we would receive."

Goyle began to chuckle, "It would sully the Malfoy name beyond repair."

Harry swallowed, it was obvious now that there people were not actually Malfoy's friends, with the exception of possibly Blaise, they were interested in money rather than the welfare of their class mate and it seemed as if they were willing to sell him out to get what they wanted. They reminded him of the Dursleys.

"Pansy!" barked Blaise, swinging his lithe body around to face her, "Have you no sense of loyalty? Draco is still a Slytherin and we should treat him with respect and no go around flaunting things this close to his heart-"

Goyle cut the taller boy off by grabbing him by the collar and shoving him up against the wall, "Treat that spoilt brat like one of us? Perhaps you'd like to join him in the infirmary?" the threat came out in a low and dangerous voice.

To Harry it seemed that Blaise was inevitably going to get a beating, even though the dark haired boy was a good inch or so taller than Goyle.

Blaise bared his teeth at the three of them, "You call yourself Slytherins? Where is your sense of Slytherin honour? You're supposed to think of your house like a family."

Crabbe growled something and grabbed Blaise's arms twisting at a vicious angle, Harry knew he would never forgive himself if he let a fellow student, Slytherin or not get physically hurt when he was there to stop it. Harry started to move out of the shadows intent on helping Blaise.

But Pansy spoke before he could fully emerge into the light, "Easy boys, I'm sure Zabini would rather you spare his pretty face," she turned to the afore mentioned boy and gave him an icy glare, "I know you come from a very old fashioned family Zabini, and yes I realise that part of your heritage stems back towards china, and we all know that China is virtually drowning in honour and loyalty, like a damn Hufflepuff." At this point in her obnoxious tirade Blaise had lashed out with one of his fists, but it had been caught by Crabbe's overly large meaty fist. Pansy wagged a finger at him, "Behave Zabini, as I was saying, we're not in China now Zabini, the rules that apply there are myth here, there is no honour, there is no loyalty. If by selling this letter we screw over Draco, then who cares?"

Harry, now in half and half out was having considerable trouble taking all of this in, he had no idea that Slytherins could be this vicious especially to one of their own.

"It's not right!" growled Blaise fighting to get free, "Don't give that letter to the Skeeter woman! She'll have a glorified field day!"

"What a wonderful idea Blaise." Purred Pansy, "Let's give it to her, she'll make sure that the world knows all of Draco darling's most inner thoughts, what a disgrace that brat'll be to his father." She giggled again to herself and then began to fold the letter up. "Let's go to Hogsmead now when the others go and we can go and find that woman, I bet she too was a Slytherin when she went to Hogwarts."

Harry felt the great need to do something, to do anything, but he couldn't think. It was that moment that Blaise Zabini tilted his head to the side and locked gazes with him. Harry froze startled like a deer in the headlights.

All of a sudden as if granted strength from a force unknown Blaise lunged forwards taking Crabbe and Goyle by surprise, he ripped himself from their grip and leapt at Pansy. The girl shrieked and threw up her hands to protect her face. Blaise ran past her.

Harry looked on confused for a moment as to why Blaise was running, they were all in the same lessons they were going to catch up with him sometime. His eyes widened when he realised that Blaise just wasn't running anywhere, he was running straight towards _him._

Harry was too surprised to move. He watched in slow motion as Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle turned and began their pursuit of the tall dark haired Slytherin. Their feet thundered against the wooden floor, it sounded like thunder coming towards him, like a storm.

Harry wondered if Blaise's plan was to ask for help or something. But then he noticed that Blaise was running directly at him. He barely had time to brace himself before the boy slammed into him and they both went careening to the floor.

Harry's back hit the wooden corridor hard and the wind was knocked out of him, something was shoved into his hands before the weight of Blaise's body on top of his disappeared as the boy heaved himself to his feet.

"Watch where you're going Potter." He snarled as he started to run off.

Luckily the fall had pushed him back into the shadows and the others mustn't have seen him because they paid him no heed or attention as they ran after their house mate. He thought that maybe it was because he was wearing all black today.

He sat there stunned in the shadows as the four of them disappeared down into the darkness that was the stairwell. Shaking his head he started to get to his feet and then remembered that something had been thrust into his hands during his collision with Blaise, who despite appearances seemed to be an alright kind of guy.

He looked down and his mouth formed an 'O' of surprise, for in his hand lay a piece of folded up parchment. Was this the letter that they had been talking about?

With some hesitancy and apprehension he began to unfold it, flattening out the creases between his long fingers. He recognised the slanted spidery lettering of Malfoy's handwriting. He began to read it with some amount of guilt, as if he were betraying a trust, even though he had no trust with Malfoy to betray anyway.

_To Whom It May Concern, I am writing this in the hope that perhaps there is someone out there who cares…_

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

Stunned by what he had read in the long and heartfelt suicide note, he leaned back against the wall once more. It really was too much to take in, he hadn't even had breakfast yet, and he needed time to think. Perhaps he would go down to eat first to allow his mind time to process all that he had learned, it was highly likely that Malfoy wouldn't even be awake yet.

In a daze he began to make his way back down to the great hall, all the while that one line of the letter going over and over in his head as if it were a record on repeat… _perhaps under different circumstances Potter and I could have been friends, perhaps even more…_ he shook his head to try and rid himself of that thought. Did that mean that Malfoy was gay?

Harry himself was bisexual, not that anyone knew that, but he had discovered that during the last summer holidays as well. It had been a time of discovering ultimately, who he was inside. And now it seemed he was being asked to find out who Malfoy was inside.

It was going to be a long and difficult year…

He pushed open the doors to the great hall and ducked as a pear flew past his ear, looking up in shock he came to the conclusion that he had just walked in on one of the only food fights that happened at Hogwarts.

Dammit he thought to himself as he dived under a table, narrowly avoiding being splattered by tomato sauce.


	5. Desuetude

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters herein.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Chapter Four: Desuetude**

_It was dark. It was very dark. Draco couldn't see anything it was that dark. And it was cold, but it wasn't windy, it was just ice cold, it was so cold in fact that it hurt his skin to stand there in it. But there was nowhere for him to go to get out of the cold, there no shelter. It was all just darkness, just darkness and unscented air. He shivered, and wrapped his arms around himself in a feeble attempt to keep warm, but it didn't help, his skin was as cold as ice as well and it served only to make him colder._

_He turned his head and looked around himself trying to see something, anything, in the dark. It scared him, he felt alone. Was this death? Was this the after life? Was this hell? _

_Terror gripped him like an old enemy. His breathing started coming faster, ripping out of his throat like icicles burning his tongue as it left his mouth, it hurt so much, he felt that he was being torn to pieces from the inside out. He let out a choked cry, and his voice sounded pained. _

_Draco lunged forwards and began running, he didn't know where he was running, or why he was running, he couldn't see where he was going, but he knew that he had to get away. Get away, get away, get away. _

_His head whipped from side to side as he forced his legs onwards, it felt as if heavy weights had been secured onto his ankles and his wrists and they were growing in size with each slow step that he took. His muscles ached in protest, but he couldn't stop, whatever was out there could get him if he was standing still. _

_The cold made his skin burn, but that didn't make sense, it was colder than ice, yet his body was on fire, he felt as if he was being consumed by some invisible flame. If he wasn't dead then surely this would kill him before he got very far. He had to slow down for a moment to cough, he raised his hands to him mouth and he coughed again. _

_There was something stuck in his throat._

_Funny, it wasn't there before._

_He coughed again in attempt to dislodge whatever it was that was stuck there; it was like a lump, a wet sticky lump. Panic rose him and he coughed more violently. His hands abandoned his mouth in favour of scratching at his throat as the lump grew bigger._

_He couldn't breathe!_

_He could feel his fingernails taking chucks out of the skin in his neck, he felt the pain, and it was agony but he had to breathe again. Seconds flew by but he paid them no heed, he had to get this lump from inside him!_

_His chest heaved and he arched his neck forward as he coughed again, the lump moved, a searing almost blinding pain washed over him and then continued to do so in waved as this sticky substance ran over his tongue and out of his mouth, the semi-aqueous substance was acid hot against his dry skin, it was flowing down the wounds in his neck too, it was thicker than blood. He knew what blood felt like when it was on his skin. He still couldn't breathe._

_Despair and desperation forced hot tears out from between his eyes and they trickled down his cheeks unseen and unheard. He tried to move again, to keep moving in an effort to save himself from what was out there. But he couldn't move, his legs were like concrete, solid and immobile. _

_He dropped to his knees and cried, his sobs were choked and the lack of oxygen made him dizzy. He could tell no difference in the darkness that he was already in and the darkness of his subconscious that raised up to over take him. _

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

_"What are you grinning at?" snapped Lucius as he towered over his quivering son._

_Draco looked up into his dad's steely gaze. He looked down, his face devoid of emotion once more. He was only seven years old; he didn't know it was wrong to smile. "Nothing sir." He mumbled as he tried to prevent the quivers from running up and down his small wiry frame._

_"Look at me when I'm speaking to you." _

_Draco looked up slowly and swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. His dad was a formidable man. He knew that, the house elves were all terrified of him; even his mum didn't raise her voice to him. His dad was a man that needed to be obeyed. Draco knew why, those who didn't obey suffered pain and humiliation. "Yes sir." He muttered staring bravely up into the cold glare._

_Draco didn't even have time to register shock when his dad's silver snake headed cane came swinging at his face. He forced himself to take the blow, it was always worse if he moved. The sharp metal teeth of the snake bit into his cheek and stung like nothing he had ever felt before. "Malfoys do not show emotion!" barked Lucius as he pulled the cane back and swung it again. _

_Draco bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he forced himself to stand there and take the blows that his own flesh and blood was raining down on him for doing something as trivial and meaningless as smiling. Perhaps if this was love, Draco was better off never being loved, it hurt too much._

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

_Draco was stood watching his mother preen herself for an evening out with her friends, Mrs. Parkinson and Mrs. Goyle if he wasn't mistaken. He had taken of late to watching her every move and memorising her social calendar. She was beautiful there was no doubt about that. It was probably why Lucius married her, she was beautiful, powerful, or so he'd been told, and most importantly of all she was a pure blood. _

_He narrowed his eyes in distaste slightly as she brushed her long platinum over and over again with that damn unicorn hair brush and pearl comb. Three house elves were stood obediently by her side holding bottles of expensive perfume, silk scarves and tall white boots. _

_She flicked her hair over her shoulder, one of the silky strands blew past the nearest elf's nose, the one holding the perfume and the elf sneezed and dropped the bottle. It smashed on the wooden floor and the purple liquid exploded and went everywhere soaking the scarves and the boots._

_Narcissa practically howled in outrage, she withdrew her wand from her pocket and aimed it at the three house elves who were stumbling over themselves trying to clear up. Draco heard her shriek the word, 'Crucio'. The elves fell like plastic figurines and began convulsing on the floor. Narcissa looked up and seen him watching, "Spy on me will you boy?" she hissed before she trained her wand on him and muttered the same word again. Fire erupted inside his skin and he dropped to his knees in pain._

_He didn't even realise he was screaming in agony until his father's staff knocked him backwards on the floor. _

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

_Draco came to slowly, he was still in the dark place, but something was different. He was…in something, it was wet. He tried to pull his arms out of it and to his horror found that they stuck fast, and he realised that he wasn't just lying in something, he was sinking in it. The level of the liquid whatever it was was rising quickly. It passed over his waist and moved up over his elbows. _

_It rose up his neck like water in a bath tub and stung the wounds that were there, it inched up over his chin, it pooled into his open mouth, it didn't taste of anything. It was tasteless. It slid into his ears and up his nose making him inhale to try and draw in oxygen, but the liquid rose faster. _

_It reached his eyes; he blinked a few times and then closed his eyes. But it seeped in through the gaps around his eyelashes and stained his eyesight red. _

_It burned._

_It burned so much._

_How he wished he was dead._

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

_"You're such a pathetic child."_

_"Drop dead Malfoy."_

_"You're such a waste of space."_

_"Drop dead Malfoy."_

_"You call yourself a Malfoy? Malfoys are perfect, you're not even close."_

_"Drop dead Malfoy."_

_"You were a mistake, I never wanted a child."_

_"Drop dead Malfoy."_

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

_Drop dead, yeah, if only I hadn't failed. Like I always do…_


End file.
